


I've Got It Bad (And That Ain't Good)

by a_xmasmurder



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Ankle worship, Blowjobs, Coming Out, First Time, Foot massages, Friends to Lovers, Light Praise Kink, M/M, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers: The Bisexual America Deserves, foot worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-25 02:25:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3793120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_xmasmurder/pseuds/a_xmasmurder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Damn it.</i> Steve drops his head into his hands, getting charcoal on his face. “I need to get with someone.” Hell, didn’t have to be a dame, either. He is open to carnal relations with guys, as long as no one gets funny about it and turns him into the cops for being a fag. He’s not. Not really. <i>Double damn.</i> Maybe he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I've Got It Bad (And That Ain't Good)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lestradesexwife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lestradesexwife/gifts).



> So, a few notes on this one - I blame this entirely on Lexxx (lestradesexwife) because she showed me a fan art of Steve tying Bucky's shoes because he didn't have his left arm, and it turned into us squawking at each other in chat about shoeshining porn and feels and then this happened. Of course, what was supposed to be a quick little thing turned into...this behemoth. Also, I don't know who the fuck authorized this photo but I want to hug you then shiv you  *hearteyes*
> 
> Anyway, those were the inspirations for this thing. As usual, no betas, so any and all mistakes are mine and mine alone. All characters within are not mine, but the work is (so no stealing please). 
> 
> Also: I've listened to jazz for the last four days trying to finish this thing, and that's how I got the name of the fic. The song is "I've Got It Bad (And That Ain't Good)" by Lena Horne (https://play.spotify.com/track/4ZP553A3KJp04Nb45KbAt8). I do suggest finding a good Jazz playlist somewhere and listening to it. Very lovely music, to be honest.

Steve is trying his hardest to focus on his coursework. He really is. But he can’t. He just can’t. It’s so damned hot and muggy that he can barely breathe...again. He sucks in a ragged lungful of air and groans. Jesus Rockefeller Christ. He’s tried taking a cool shower, but the midday New York summer soup is sticking to everything. In short, he’s futzin’ miserable. Don’t help none that his brain is eating away at the inside of his head. For once it’s not because of a fever. Steve scowls down at the paper in front of him as his mind wanders into dark waters.

Maybe it’s a different kind of fever. A special kind of fever that hits at certain parts of the night and leaves its mark on the flimsy covers on his bed or his underwear. It’s been weeks since he’d gotten lucky with the choice bit of calico at the dancehall - God, what’s her name again? Megan? Molly? Miranda? He can’t remember. They’d barely past pawing at each other’s clothes before Bucky came crashing in, completely sauced and dragging two birds with him. Two! That damned gatecrasher! He’d collapsed on Steve’s bed and proceeded to make time. With both. Poor insert-M-name-here was so put out she’d gotten up and left. So, the real story is that he didn’t get lucky at all. He was stuck kicking the can and willing away the hardness in his trousers, even though Bucky drunkenly warbled at him to ‘stay, stay, stay Stevie _stay a while_ ’ while the birds giggled and stroked his belly through his best shirt. Is it bad that he really wanted to stay while Bucky got those birds to do things that made him jabber nonsense? Is it bad that he wants to do those things to Bucky just so that he can hear nonsense spill out of his well-spoken friend and know that he did it? Is it so bad? He gets a flutter in his chest every time he thinks about it now, and it’s driving him up the wall.

 _Damn it_. Steve drops his head into his hands, getting charcoal on his face. “I need to get with someone.” Hell, didn’t have to be a dame, either. He is open to carnal relations with guys, as long as no one gets funny about it and turns him into the cops for being a fag. He’s not. Not really. _Double damn._ Maybe he is.

The door to the apartment bangs open, the flimsy wood vibrating as the devil himself drags his body through the entryway. _Another hard day at the yard,_ Steve thinks morosely. If only he were able to work more than a few hours sweeping floors at the grocers between school and being sick, he’d be able to help out a little so that Bucky wouldn’t have to keep working himself down to the bone.

Bucky throws his jacket onto the floor and chucks his tin lunchbox into the kitchen sink. Steve gets up from his stool and picks up after his friend as he makes his way over to the threadbare couch. He sinks into it with a sigh. “Thank the Lord above I’m home.”

“Rough day?” Steve asks, tentative as he empties the box of sand, sets the thermos into the sink and rinses both with the icy water from the tap.

“You got it, boss. Geniuses down at the docks, lemme tell ya.” Bucky runs grubby hands through his wet mop of hair. “Hot enough to melt iron out there today.”

“Yeah.” Steve knows that story. “Summer in Fulton Landing isn’t a walk in the park, if the inside of this damned flophouse is any indication.” You’d think they’d be used to it, living here for their whole lives, but this kind of heat is not something you get used to. “You’d think the breeze off the river would do something for that, wouldn’t ya?”

“Like hell.” Bucky throws a grin Steve’s way, letting it light up his eyes. “Got a few checks, though. Worth it.”

Steve smiles back at him. _Must not have been that bad, then. Not if he’s in a good mood._ He turns from the sink wrong, a sharp pain sparking up his spine. Damn his back to hell and back. He hides the wince, but not fast enough. Bucky’s right back on his feet and making a path to the kitchen. Steve waves him off. “Sit down, you goof! I’m fine.”

“Like hell,” Bucky mutters for the second time. He settles his large, warm hands on Steve’s shoulders, like he always does when he wants Steve to just sit down and stop doing things. “I’ll do the washing up.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I’m not breakable.”

“Never said you were. But you fell down that flight of stairs last week, and I’m still not convinced that doc didn’t just throw you out of his office to get you out of his hair.” Bucky sighs. “Getting you checked up was so much easier -” He trails off, a wounded look on his face, and Steve knows what he was about to say.

“When my ma was alive.” Bucky winces, and Steve nods, closing his eyes for a second. _Bucky acts like it’s his fault my health is starting to tank, like if he’d just left me the hell alone that I’d be fine. Damn fool. I’d have been dead within the month if he didn’t drag me out of that place._ “I know. You sit down and relax. You’ve had a long day. Want a beer? I think the icebox still has cold water in it.” Steve pulls out of Bucky’s almost-embrace and opens the lid. “Miracles on high, it’s even got ice!”

“Hallelujah!” Bucky tries not to make worried faces at Steve. “Yeah, sure. I’ll have one. You get one out for yourself too, twerp.”

Steve will never turn down alcohol, so he does, tossing Bucky his. “There you go, jerk.”

Bucky cackles and plops back down on the couch, turning on the radio. The end of The Lone Ranger is on, and Bucky curses. “Damn it, missed it again!”

“Aww, it’s not that bad.” Steve stares down at Bucky’s shoes. “Unlike your boots, which could use a rag.”

“Hey.” Bucky looks up at Steve through his damp fringe, and smirks. “Remember what I said? When you moved in here, you’d be the one shining these babies up to their former glory.”

“Yeah, I’m not sleeping on couch cushions, either, am I?”

“Naw, I couldn’t do that to you, buddy!” Bucky laughs. “Just grab the oil and rag, on the counter. I’d meant to do it this morning, but I wasn’t even awake enough to bother with coffee.”

Steve grins. “So that’s why I had some this morning! And here I thought I was being buttered up.”

“Only the best for you, dollface.”

Steve feels that little twinge in his chest again, feels his neck heating up. _Triple damn and hellfire._ They joke about this as only friends for life can, but God, if only. Just once. If only Bucky would say that for real to him. Just once.

“So,” he starts as he brings the stuff over and plunks himself down in front of Bucky and his horrible shoes, the pain in his back forgotten for a moment. “The lungers are back.” He doesn’t like the name for the people suffering from tuberculosis, but saying the actual medical term tended to draw stares, especially from those who knew him and his family. “Moved in a couple floors down. Wonder if the ol’ man’s gonna boot them again.”

Bucky grunts and takes a long pull from his beer. “Hope so. Can’t risk you gettin’ sick on me. Not after last winter.”

Steve squeezes one eye shut as he looks up at his friend. Buck’s not apologetic when it comes to what he says, especially concerning Steve. “That was a hard one,” he agrees. He pulls one foot into his lap and starts in.

“Hard? You almost didn’t make it, genius.”

“Not the point.” Steve grimaces. “Shit, your feet reek.”

“Happens when you’re on them most of the time, gettin’ fish guts and dirt all over ‘em.”

“Yeah.” Steve makes short work of the first one, but the second shoe - oh, no. “Bucky, you’ve got a hole in - ”

“I know.”

“We gotta get you new ones.” Steve’s already doing up a budget for the next three months to get a new pair of work boots. Looks like the beer’s gotta go. Probably the milk, too. And the oranges.

“No, we don’t. Just shine them, and I’ll fix it up with tape or somethin’.”

“Bucky - ”

“None of that, now. You know how much shoes can be nowadays, with the war on.” Bucky grunts as Steve pulls his leg closer. “Stupid hip. Pull a little harder, maybe it’ll pop.”

Steve does, and Bucky’s hip shifts back into place. His groan is downright filthy. Steve’s brain flipflops. It sounds like the groan he made when those girls were in bed with him. Oh, no. Not here. Not now… Steve reaches over and grabs his beer, downing half in one long drink. Bucky’s laugh is startled and bright above him. “Aww, Stevie! Don’t tell me that weirded you out!”

“Nothin’ can weird me out,” Steve mutters and wills his dick to obey and not get all warm and full because of Bucky’s voice. A voice that he can no longer block out of his dreams.

And then Bucky says something so completely out in left field, just as the news starts on the radio. “Hey. You know that new place that opened up down the road? I heard tell that there’s dancers there, real hot steppers. Like, dames and fellas gettin’ all fancy on each other. Queer-like, y’know?”

Steve swallows because he doesn’t know where this is going, or why Bucky is even mentioning it. “Yeah?”

Bucky nods and takes another pull of his beer. “Was thinkin’ on going down there tonight, when it gets cooler and not so muggy. You can breathe better at night, which means you find your right foot and dance better.”

Steve nearly chokes as he drains his beer. _Is this an opening? It’s got to be._ He’s got one chance, and he knows he could screw it up. He could screw up this whole thing, the best damned thing that’s ever happened to him. But he has to try. He pulls the beer from his mouth and glances up at his best friend as coyly as he can. “Oh? Takin’ me out to a wingding?”

The moment stretches. Steve sweats and grips his bottle until he’s sure he’s gonna break the damned thing. Then Bucky shifts a little lower into the couch and drops his head against the headrest again. “Yeah, I am, ain’t I? No backin’ out, now, y’hear? Get your best togs on, I’m gonna swing you to the moon.” He laughs, his voice low and smoky, and Steve has an epiphany that nearly stops his heart.

Bucky _relaxed_. He’d been tense when he’d told Steve about the dance. But he’s relaxed now. Oh. No. _This_ is his opening. He gets to his feet slowly, trying to put as much slink into the movement as he can. The pain in his back isn’t just forgotten. It’s gone with the surge of adrenaline taking up space in his bloodstream. “Want another beer? I’m not done with that shoe, but it’ll keep.”

“Sure, whatever you want, doll.” Steve isn’t sure they are joking anymore. No, he’s positive they aren’t. _Here we go, into the breach_. He plucks the last beer out of the ice box and brings it over to Bucky as he finishes the first and sighs, “Lord, this tastes darb. Damned hot out, ain’t it?”

Gettin’ hotter in here by the minute. Steve grins. “Sure is.” He settles down again, taking up the holey shoe into his lap and continuing with the shining, thinking about how the hell he is going to do this. It’s not like Bucky doesn’t know, he has to by now. He wouldn’t have said anything if he didn’t. But hand to the Lord, Steve isn’t sure how he’s gonna make it with his best futzing friend. He shines the shoe to a mirror gleam, just like the other.

“You’re really good at this, Stevie.”

Steve feels his blush bloom over his ears and cheeks. He likes to hear that. He really likes to hear he’s doing a good job at something. Doesn’t that say something about him? “Thanks.” His hands settle on that shoe. Time to fire the round, and come what may. “Hey. Want a foot massage?”

That startles a laugh out of Bucky. “You just said my feet stink!”

“You’ve had a hard day. I just want to make you feel good.” Steve blinks. Oh, God. He could have worded that differently. Shit.

“Go for it, then. Don’t complain if I have to take you to the doc’s because you get gassed out.” Bucky’s tone is light, teasing, but there’s a harder edge somewhere in there that sends a little thrill of challenge through Steve’s belly.

“If it’s anything like your actual gassy ass after we finally get broccoli, I think I’ll survive.” Steve slowly unties and slips each shoe off, pleased to find that the smell is from the shoes themselves. Bucky’s socks, while worn through, weren’t nearly as bad. He takes one foot in both of his broad hands and digs his thumbs into the sole, into the calloused pads where toes met foot.

Bucky lets out that same groan again. Steve hears it just fine over the soft jazz music humming out of the radio. “Jesus, Steve.”

Steve rolls the delicate bones twixt his fingers and thumbs, just relishing the noises Bucky is making above him - noises he’s making Bucky make. _Oh, Lord above. I’m doing it. I’m causing that sound. I’m done for._

He’s dizzy for Bucky, that’s for sure. Damn dizzy and sick in the head for wanting this, wanting more. Always wanting more. He moves his fingers along the arch, tracing Bucky’s foot through his sock, loving how it twitches in his hand. He wets his lips and dances on the blade, reaches his fingers up to the uneven roll of sock surrounding Bucky’s ankle. “Can I?”

“Uh...sure thing.” Bucky doesn’t sound so confident anymore. He sounds like he’s being taken apart one piece at a time, unsure if he’ll ever be put back together again. And hell if Steve doesn’t feel the same. His brain is buzzing and his skin is on fire. Everything is in bright colors and sharp focus. He slips the sock off Bucky’s foot, slow and steady like he’s been doing this his whole life. He can’t help himself. He leans forward, coming to his knees and leaning over Bucky’s pale, pale foot. It’s not as tan as the rest of him - or most of him, Steve hasn’t seen Bucky’s ass or anything since he started working at the docks every day. But he’s an Irish boy, and Irish boys are pale, pale, pale. The skin on his ankle is milky white and smooth as silk. He starts the massage again, taking time at the ankle, lavishing attention to the top of the foot and rolling each toe gently along the pads of his fingertips.

“Steve,” Bucky breathes. “You - you’re good. So good at this.” He huffs a quick laugh, trying to cover how soft his voice has become. “You gotta do this for me every night, alright?”

“You betcha.” Steve is as quiet as Bucky. He takes up the other foot and peels that sock off to do the same thing. Bucky is breathing hard above him, beer all but forgotten in his hand. Such strong hands. Steve briefly wonders what those hands would feel like, wrapped around his hips. The very thought has shivers running up his spine, and he swallows as he works Bucky’s foot, listening to the little gasps when he hits just the right spots. He runs his fingers along the soft skin of his ankle and traces the veins.

“Jesus, Stevie.” Bucky’s not kidding. Not anymore. Steve looks up at Bucky through his fringe and his lashes, and Bucky curses under his breath. “Dammit, don’t do that. You can’t look at me like that.” Steve pushes his luck and puts some shimmer and a smirk into the look. Bucky suddenly can’t catch his breath at all. “Fuck.”

Without looking away from him, Steve takes the leap. He brings Bucky’s foot close to his face, turns his head, and presses his lips to the slight swell of Bucky’s anklebone. He brushes it lightly with his lips, then - watching Bucky’s stunned expression - barely touches the tip of his tongue to the bone.

Bucky jerks his foot away with a squawk. “Steve!”

For a heart-wrenching moment, Steve knows he’s messed up. Bad. Horribly, horrifically bad. He’s sure Bucky’s gonna turn him out on his nose after beating the stuffing out of him. But Bucky doesn’t. He doesn’t get up, doesn’t kick out at him, doesn’t do anything but hang his foot in the air like a kook.

“Jesus.” Bucky finally sets his foot down next to Steve’s hip and rubs his face. “You ain’t gonna be licking my damned feet until I get a decent bath! That just ain’t right.” He smiles down at Steve, and holy Mary full of Grace, that smile is the best damned thing in Steve’s sickly small world. It lights up the room and makes the fear go away. “C’mere, doll.”

It’s Steve’s turn to squawk, and he gets up to pile himself into Bucky’s embrace, face red with embarrassment and arousal. He can’t hide his stiffy now, not with Bucky’s beautifully rough hands roaming his sides and Bucky’s face in his - oh! Steve comes back to himself just as Bucky presses his rough lips to his own in a quick kiss. Steve’s shocked near out of his socks, and he says so with a shudder and a whimper. For that moment, words are foreign. Bucky grins against his cheek and kisses him there, too.

“I had no idea, Stevie,” Bucky breathes. “No idea. Been blind all this time.”

“Me too.” Steve hides his face in Bucky’s neck. “I’m sorry.”

“Naw, none of that now.” Bucky puts his hands on Steve’s hips, and it feels just like how Steve had imagined just minutes before. Warm. Kind. Steadying. Like they belong there and only there.

“Glad I said something about that place.” Bucky mutters into his hair. “Now we gotta go. I gotta show you off, dollface. Gotta show you to the world.” He presses sweet kisses to the top of Steve’s head.

Steve hums happily, perfectly content to stay just like this for the rest of his life. No matter how short his health will make it, he’s gonna stay in Bucky’s arms forever.

After a few minutes of just sharing space, something makes itself known. Bucky chuckles as he shifts, the hard press of his groin sliding on Steve’s bony hip. “Hey. You still awake?”

Steve smiles and kisses Bucky’s neck. “You smell like fish, bad water and oil.”

“I’ll take that as a yes. Say. How long have you...known?”

“What? That I like being a pinch hitter for the Dodgers or that I’m destined for stardom on Broadway?”

Bucky barks a laugh. “Christ, I gotta put a muzzle on you with all that bushwa. No, that you like boys. How long?”

Steve shifts, and Bucky lets out a killer groan that melts whatever sentence was on Steve’s tongue. “Oops, sorry.”

“Aw, sweetling, don’t be. That felt good. Even by accident, you do good things to me.” Bucky’s breathless again. Steve wants to keep him breathless.

“Um, to answer your question...I don’t know?” Steve shrugs against Bucky’s chest. “And I like ‘em both.”

“Huh.” Bucky rubs Steve’s back and tucks him in tighter. He doesn’t seem to notice that his hips are starting to move on their own, sort of just rubbing against Steve. Steve’s heart kicks up a notch. “Didn’t know that was possible. Liking...huh. Guess it is.” He hums into Steve’s hair.

 _And just like that, I'm accepted._ Steve's possibly completely head over heels for Bucky now. “So...any reason you wanted to know?”

“Yeah.” Bucky draws the word out, like he always does when he either is thinking or wants something. His hips are still moving. “Have you ever...done anything?”

“Done anything how?”

“Well. Uh.” Bucky chews on his lip. “Made time. Necking. Uh...petting?”

Steve laughs. “My sex life lately consists of getting kicked out of the room so you can rub your face into two sets of bubs and get lucky in the best way possible, fella.”

Bucky’s skin turns red as tomatoes, and Steve realizes Bucky is blushing hotter than him. “I told you to stay.” He says this so quiet Steve’s sure he’s hearing things. But no. Bucky is actually admitting…

“Oh, wow.” Steve breathes in once, twice. “Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“So.”

Bucky tightens his grip and thrusts a little harder. “Yeah.”

Steve knows what he has to do now. He’s never done it. He’s only ever dreamt about it, because coming out with it and saying, “Oh, I wanna know what it’s like to put my mouth around another guy’s dick” is liable to get him beaten worse than he normally is. Or killed. Killed is an option that he doesn’t like. But damn it, he wants to. For Bucky. For his best friend, who has just admitted that he wants Steve as bad as Steve wants him.

He needs to do this.

He pulls away from Bucky’s chest and lays his hands where his shoulders were. So warm. So strong. Bucky’s strong enough for both of them. Steve doesn’t want to think about the war on. He listens to the music wafting out of the radio next to them and drags his hands over Bucky’s grimy shirt. He savors the muscles, hard and soft at the same time. Bucky’s breathing on him, beer and old cigarettes and coffee combining to make his breath not the greatest. He still smells like the dockyard.

Steve doesn’t care.

He starts sliding down to the floor, slinking between Bucky’s knees, back down to where he started this adventure. Bucky watches him the whole time, his own breathing picking up pace. “Oh, Steve, baby doll.”

Steve’s on his knees, the bare floor pressing hard through his trousers into his bony knees. Once again, he doesn’t care. All he cares about now is taking care of Bucky. Taking care of his best guy. He drags his hands down Bucky’s front, feeling the slight twitch and hitch of his stomach muscles. Even these are strong, beaten into shape by years of hard labor. Steve leans forward and tugs the shirt out of Bucky’s trousers and mouths at the exposed skin he finds.

Bucky whines.

Steve smiles against Bucky’s stomach. He kisses each little freckle he finds, little places where the sun touched his friend. His stomach is much more tan than his ankles. Sitting the way he is, Steve can see the line where Bucky’s trousers cover his hips, and he kisses that line.

Bucky jerks back against the couch, forwards against his lips, and moans.

Steve licks at the line, and Bucky makes a noise he can’t categorize. It sounds like begging. It sounds like a plea for mercy. Steve savors that sound. He pushes Bucky’s shirt higher and kisses a scar from a knife fight in the speakeasy down the road, long since closed since the coppers showed up. The scar is soft and shiny and spans his eighth rib. “I love you,” he whispers against the scar. “You are the best thing that has happened to me.”

Bucky hums and groans above him. “You, too, baby. You too.”

Steve sighs and trails his tongue down, tracing the trail of dark hair that showed up a few years ago. He follows it to the button of Bucky’s pants. Now, the moment of truth. He nibbles at the waistband, and Bucky goddamn giggles. His hands are still at his sides, where he put them once Steve started his downward trek. The beer sits on the table next to the radio. Steve nuzzles Bucky’s hard belly to the tune of his laughter. He runs his artist’s hands from the top of Bucky’s thighs to his bare toes, gentle and soft. He’s trying to put every ounce of what he’s feeling for Bucky right now into every movement, every kiss and nuzzle, every lick and sigh. All the noises he pulls out of Bucky is food for his ego, for his willpower to carry through with this thing.

Damn, he wants. He wants Bucky, and Bucky wants him. They’re goofy for each other, and it’s gonna kill him. His heart is swelling as he retraces his trail up Bucky’s belly, nosing brashly into his belly button as he drags his fingertips up Bucky’s legs once again. Bucky hisses and whimpers under the sensations, wiggling and pushing his hips against Steve’s chest. He can’t even form words anymore, judging the way his mouth is gaping open like a fish out of water. Open, closed. Open, breathe, closed again. Sigh. _Moan._ Steve’s drinking all of this in, thirsty like he’s never had a drink of water in his life. He’s ravenous for Bucky. He nips at Bucky’s belly button, and Bucky wiggles even more. He brings one hand up to grab onto Bucky’s right, picking it up and pressing it to the back of his head.

“Oh,” Bucky whisper-gasps. “I can’t…”

“Why not?” Steve presses the words into Bucky’s skin and takes a wild guess. “You’ve done it with the dames. I’ll be fine.” He tilts his head back and looks at Bucky _that_ way again. “Guide me, baby. I’ve never done this before.” _And where the blue hell did_ that _come from?_ Steve blushes scarlet from his own mouth at the same time that Bucky shivered from head to toe and groaned so loud the new neighbors probably heard him. Steve returns both hands to their previous job of stroking those mile-long legs, leg’s he’s fallen in love with.

“Oh, man…” Bucky’s hand tightens, just a little, and Steve turns his hiss of pain into a sigh because wow. Wow, that feels good. The sting at the back of his neck shifts, turns into something else. Something more. _‘Oh, man’ is right._ He lets Bucky, the more experienced of the two of them, push him down a little further. He’d like to say he’s seen this in blue films, but they don’t usually go to those...

Bucky’s other hand is fumbling at his fly, the button already done. He’s muttering and whispering, low enough that Steve can’t hear anything other than a few curses and ‘baby doll’. He should be offended, being called a woman’s name, but quite the opposite is happening. It’s awakening something in him, something that _holy damn I’m gonna explore later because that’s Bucky’s dick! That’s..._ Steve sucks in a breath through his nose and gets hit with the scent of him. Any backwards thoughts of ‘ _what if I’m not actually_ ’ get thrown into the trash right now. Steve’s mouth - Jesus, it starts watering. He swallows and stares as Bucky curls his left hand tightly around the base of an absolutely amazing looking penis. It’s not especially long, it’s not especially thick; it’s just right. Perfect. The dusky rose cap is shiny with slippery pre-ejaculate, and Steve sits for a moment and just admires with his creative mind how it curves slightly upwards, just enough to make intercourse very interesting for a gal. Everything about Bucky is perfect, right down to the thatch of dark kinky hair at the base of his dick and the balls that hang heavy and full under his knuckles.

Steve starts to shake. He can’t help it. It’s the lust. He’s shaking with the effort it’s taking to not just bury his face between Bucky’s legs and inhale and lick and bite and fuck! Steve looks up at Bucky and keeps his hands roving over his friend’s dirty trousers. Bucky’s caught his bottom lip between his teeth, and he’s blinking his watery pale eyes, so dark now and bright with the same lust Steve’s got swimming in his gut. Steve swallows again.

“Baby.” The word slips from Bucky’s mouth. He takes up his lip again and worries it. “You don’t hafta…” His accent is coming on thick and is doing things to Steve that he can’t name. Oh, they are going to Hell for this. They are going straight Below, but fuck if he’s not gonna enjoy every damned second of it.

“Gonna do it,” Steve breathes, and leans down. He doesn’t go right for the prize, not yet. First, he does what he’s wanted, needed, to do since Bucky opened his clothes. He noses past the hard prick in front of him, past Bucky’s rough knuckles, and buries his face into the dark place where his hip and groin meet. The smell there is so heady it makes him dizzy, dizzy and wild. He opens his mouth and inhales deep, then presses a kiss to Bucky’s soft skin. Bucky shifts above him, jostling him as he pushes his trousers all the way off his knees. Steve’s happy because this means more access, and he pushes his face further in. Bucky’s moaning in earnest now, not even trying to hide his excitement. Steve comes back up for air, leaning against the hand still buried in his hair. “Hush now, babe. Can’t be announcing this to the world.”

He thinks he hears Bucky growl, “Watch me, twerp,” before he goes back down for round two. Round two is exploring Bucky’s nested sac, which he presses lips and tongue to. It’s softly furred and smells like man and sweat and pure heaven. Steve laps and kisses, turning Bucky’s moans to groans. “Christ, you are good, how are you so god damned good at this?” Steve smiles against one ball before sucking it into his mouth, making Bucky damn near yowl. He pulls back just a tiny bit, bringing the ball in his mouth with, just enough to see Bucky stuff his fist into his mouth to stifle something even louder. His eyes are squeezed shut and his face is red, redder than Steve ever thought Bucky could get. He presses his tongue once, twice, three times against Bucky’s testicle and lets it out of his mouth with a pop. Bucky whines against his hand and pushes Steve’s head down again, pressing him hard against his groin. The words are muffled, but Steve can hear ‘Please’ somewhere in there. His right ear is buzzing again, but it’s alright. Body language says it all. He presses more kisses along Bucky’s thighs and the creases of his hips, then looks at his swollen prick once more.

“Please.”

He definitely hears it this time.

“Please, Stevie, darling.” Bucky’s gasping. “Be a good boy and put your mouth on me.”

Steve’s eyes go wide as a tidal wave of need hits him. “Buck…” He growls and rings his fingers around the base of that beautiful futzin' dick, trying to figure out how he is going to do this.

“Steve. Level with me.” Bucky sounds wrecked already. Steve looks up again. “Do you wanna do this, or are you thinkin’ with your cock?”

Steve’s never heard that word before, and it lights a fire in his gut. “Wanna do this.”

“Then shake a leg, there, pal.” Bucky tries to inject humor into the electric air with a grin, but he’s panting. “Gonna hafta hoof it if we are gonna make it to the romp in time before the coppers catch wind of it, the rate we’re going.”

“Aww, Bucky.” Steve grins, then sticks his tongue out to lap lightly at the head of Bucky’s prick. There’s more slick there than before, probably thanks to Steve’s messin’ about between his legs, and Bucky throws his head back and whines. _Hmm. Taste ain’t bad. Salty._ He’d be lying if he hadn’t tried his own spunk, but Bucky’s tastes different. Sweeter, somehow. He wraps his lips around the whole head, glad that Bucky’s not as big as he’s heard tell. Some guys, the way he hears it, are hung like winning horses, and that’s just scary. Bucky fits just right, slipping between his lips like he belongs there. Steve’s mouth is watering again, and he lets some of his spit drip down into the nest of hair and along the veined shaft.

“Christ, you know what'cher doin', babe.” Bucky’s hand shifts on his head, and the other reaches out for the rest of his beer. “Should I turn - guh, fuck, you’re a star at this - turn the radio up?”

Steve can’t answer, his mouth is full of dick - _cock, Bucky calls it cock_ \- but he hums in assent. And Lord above, that does something to Bucky. He stiffens and nearly drops his beer, squeaking out a slurry of words that aren’t words in Steve’s direction. His hand tightens and holds Steve right where he’s at. Steve hums again, and Bucky groans. _By golly, I think I’ve got something here._ Steve grins as much as he can around Bucky and hums deep in his chest.

Bucky chokes on air, and takes a deep pull of his beer. “Fuck, Stevie, little baby doll, you’re so hot. So fucking good.”

Steve blushes deep at the praise. He just wants to make Bucky feel good. He pulls up a little, then pushes himself back down, careful to breathe at the right moments so that he doesn’t start coughing. He’s learning as he goes. Bucky’s hand follows his movements, tightening when he does something right. Steve mentally rolls around in all the praise Bucky’s dumping on him. He knows Bucky’s a talker in bed, thanks to the thin walls, but he never hears it like this. He loves it.

Soon, he’s built up a rhythm, a good one that lets him breathe even as the tip of Bucky’s cock hits the roof of his mouth with every stroke. He keeps swallowing and tasting the brackish candy-sweet slick at the back of his tongue, leaking out of the slit each time he squeezes just to hear Bucky’s breath hitch. Suddenly, Bucky fists the hand in his hair and hold him still. As the blood roars in Steve’s head, he hears the words.

“I’m gonna come, Stevie...So close. Gotta...where…”

Steve hums again and works his tongue along the underside, where he’s stiffest, and swallows, trying to tell his best friend and now lover that he’d better come right in his mouth or there’ll be hell to pay. Bucky whines, high and breathy, and nods. The movement rocks the whole couch.

“Fuck, okay. Gah, so...fuckin’...”

Steve pulls against Bucky’s fist in his hair and pushes himself down as far as he can go just as Bucky pulses in his mouth. Hot spunk hits the back of his throat, and Steve gags. That must feel amazing because Bucky makes a strangled noise - not unlike the noise Steve made when he gagged - and pushes him further down on his cock. His orgasm rocks through him like a lightning storm, and Steve rides it out. When he’s finished filling Steve’s mouth he collapses back against the couch, letting Steve up.

When Steve’s able to clap eyes on him, he flushes with pride. Bucky’s limp as a mop and sweaty, all gaspy and splotchy and rung out. Steve rolls his tongue around his mouth and swallows again, then reaches up for Bucky’s beer. He finishes it off to get the saltier taste off his palate. His jaw aches, his eyes are watery and filled with stars, and he damn near got choked at the end. But damn, that was somethin’. That was something he’d gladly do again if it turns his friend into a pile of rags on the couch after a stressful day.

Steve smiles a secret little smile to himself and leans back onto his heels. Only the stretch of his trousers across his hips alerts him to his own predicament. _Oh, yeah. Forgot about myself. Well, since I just gave Buck a good seein’-to, I’m sure he won’t mind if I just jerk one out._ Steve rubs himself through his trousers, fine with getting himself off right there on the floor.

Bucky, despite turning into the worst impression of a wet rag, has another idea. “Oooooh, no you don’t. Nuh-uh.” He flops upright and pulls Steve up by the shoulders, gathering him onto his naked lap again. “C’mere, you slip of a thing.” He hums into Steve’s neck and slides his tongue along one of the sharp tendons. Steve lets out a whine. Everything’s coiling inside of him, the need for release making it damned hard to concentrate. Bucky is not helping.

Until suddenly, he is.

Steve sucks in a startled breath as Bucky’s hand dips into his open trousers - how did they get open? - and closes loose around Steve’s impossibly hard cock. “Oh, darling,” Bucky mouths into his hair and strokes gently, just enough to move the skin -

“Oh! Bucky, oh oh _oh shit_ -” Steve can barely get a warning out before he’s spilling all over Bucky’s fist and his shirt and his eyes are rolling into the back of his head and he’s seeing stars and - and -

He comes back to completely wrapped up in Bucky. They are both melting in the boiler room their flop-room has become in the hot evening. The golden sun beats in through the dirty window, and Steve curses being just over the rooftops of the other buildings. There’s a reason no one wants this dump. _Damn it._ He tries to unstick himself from his friend without disturbing him. The snort and groan from Bucky lets Steve know that there’s no way they are going out tonight. Bucky ain’t gettin’ up for anything short of a hurricane. Once on his feet, Steve has to pull up his trousers because they barely fit while properly closed. Wide open, they slide right off his bony ass. He staggers into the postage stamp of a bathroom, leaving the door open as he splashes cool water on his face. He waits for the inevitable after-sex regret to come galloping in. Hell, he waits for Bucky to realize what they’ve done and freak out. He stares into the mirror, into his own eyes. _How stupid am I? I’ve probably messed this whole thing up. He’s gonna kick me to the curb, probably literally. I’m done for. He’s not gonna wanna stick around a three-letter man._ He’s so far into berating himself that he doesn’t notice Bucky’s behind him until Bucky’s hands trap his hips and hot breath whispers over the short hairs on his neck.

“What’s up, buttercup?”

Once again, the fears get washed away in a warm wave, but this time it’s affection. Steve shifts his gaze, looking at Bucky in the mirror. “Didn’t think you were gettin’ up anytime soon. You were dead to the world.”

“Yeah?” Bucky’s grin lights up the dingy place. “Can’t blame a guy after getting the best damned blowjob ever.” He squeezes Steve’s hips. “I’d say something about gettin’ some meat on these poor bones, but it wouldn’t stick and I’m startin’ to think I like you the way you are. Easy to move around.” To put paid to the point, he picks Steve up by the hips and deposits him a foot away so he could get to the sink.

Steve smacks him hard on the shoulder. “Don’t do that, you futz!”

“Ha!” Bucky snorts through the handful of water he splashes on his face. “C’mon, sweet cheeks. Let’s get you dolled up for the dance. Like I said, gotta show you off to the world.”

Steve hums and yanks his ruined shirt off. “Gonna be sheik and sheba?”

“Naw, you ain’t a dame, Steve. You ain’t my girl, you’re my best guy. We’re two sheiks, and if nobody likes it, they can come talk to my fist.” Bucky smiles, fierce and wild. “Gonna take the town by storm, baby, and light this place on fire.”

Steve matches his smile. That’s they way they’ve always been, and always will be. _Us two against the world, ain’t no one gonna stop us._

**  
**  



End file.
